Haunted
by purplecleric
Summary: A Halloween tale...and, of course, it's not pretty.
1. Scent

It was Halloween.

A time of candy and cute kids in costumes; pumpkins and parties. The houses were trimmed with decorations, looking far more cheerful than spooky, and the streets were filled with mock fright, revelry and cries of "Trick or treat!" A time of fun.

It was less fun for the police. They were working overtime to deal with parties that had got out of hand, tricks gone wrong or taken too far, lost children, paranoid parents, terrified seniors and the parade in the Village. There was the usual increase in thefts, robberies and violent crime that seem to accompany any holiday period, especially one that involved people taking to the street in various disguises and attempting (and sometimes succeeding) in scaring the wits out of each other. To add to their woes, the police were hindered in their work by the numerous calls to report suspicious people or activities, the random groups of vampires and zombies blocking the streets and the constant disbelief that they were genuine officers along with criticism of their costumes...A trying time, indeed.

Gradually, the festivities died down. The children were made to clean their teeth and were tucked up in bed. The last spooky story was read and the last horror film watched. The zombies shuffled home in pairs or alone, their gait more realistic through booze and tiredness. Lanterns were extinguished and, at last, the forces of law and order could catch their breath.

But Halloween was far from over.

Now the modern customs were over, the city evoked more ancient beliefs. All Hallows Eve; the time when the barriers between the worlds of the living and the dead were at their thinnest, the time when the dead returned home, the time when lost souls roamed and when ghosts dealt with their unfinished earthly business. As if to order, the fog rolled into the city, shrouding skyscrapers and turning their silhouettes into cathedrals. Its tendrils crept through now silent streets and ever silent cemeteries. Cemeteries like this one...

The two detectives picked their way through the gravestones, using the floodlights ahead of them as a guide. They were on call tonight, but had not been involved in the earlier festivities as nothing had occurred that had needed the presence of the Major Case Squad. Instead, the smaller detective, Eames, had spent the evening with her family, taking her nieces and nephews out in their fancy dress to collect candy before returning to play games and generally have fun. In contrast, her partner, Goren, had spent his evening honouring the occasion with a copy of Mary Shelley's Frankenstein.

"This is the oldest cemetery in the city, ya know." His voice was hushed, almost a whisper, and it sounded a little creepy in the gloom.

"Spare me the history lesson, Bobby." She knew if she didn't stop him, he would spend the rest of the walk to the crime scene listing all the notable people buried here and she wasn't in the mood. The muffled sounds of activity were becoming clearer and she could now make out the gaudy yellow ribbon of the crime scene tape. A figure made its way towards them.

"Major Case?"

"Detective Eames, and this is my partner, Detective Goren. What have you got? "

"I'm Detective Simmons and we've got a body..."

"In a graveyard? Now that's a surprise."

Ignoring his partner's sarcasm and leaving her to get more details, Goren ducks under the tape to take a closer look. The deceased was a white male in his forties, laid on his back, limbs akimbo. His coat was open revealing a light- coloured sweater and a large gaping wound.

Having got the basics from Simmons, Eames heads over to join Goren, watching him study the body with his usual enthusiasm. For a brief fanciful moment, as he swishes his long black coat away from his legs to avoid getting blood on it, she is reminded of a vampire.

"Hey, Eames, where's the costume tonight?" Valdez, one of the crime scene techs, has recognised her, and is quick to remind her of another Halloween when she had been on call, and had arrived at a crime scene fresh from a party. "No sexy witch?"

"In your dreams, Valdez." She doesn't see her partner duck his head to conceal his blush as he, too remembers that night and some rather interesting dreams he'd had later. "Joseph Davenport, 43, found by a couple of teens trying to add a seasonal flavour to their love life. You got anything?"

"Gunshot wound to the stomach, pretty close range, judging by the stippling." She watches him lean over and sniff the dead man's open mouth, and tries not to grimace. "No smell of alcohol, just garlic."

"Probably trying to ward of the vampires." She helps him roll over the body, and they examine the unstained grass by flashlight. "No exit wound, and no blood on the ground, must be a body dump."

There is a waft of men's cologne, probably sent up as they moved the body. It seemed familiar, somehow. Her thoughts are disturbed by the sound of Simmons' voice.

"Detectives! We've got another one!"

Following her partner, she is envious of his sturdy boots; her own heels keep sinking into the soft ground. Cobwebs from the trees brush her face and she can still smell aftershave. Surely it's not ... No, Bobby never wears any when he's working, doesn't like to confuse that sensitive nose of his. But... she surreptitiously tries to edge a little a closer to see if it is him, and he detects her movement.

"What?"

"I thought I could..." Something about his manner puts her off. "Nothing."

She shakes her head and they move to take a look at this latest discovery. A young black female, also on her back, another stomach wound. The techs haven't had time to set up the lights yet and this corner of the cemetery is very dark, just their flashlights providing illumination. Goren checks the victim's pockets for ID and she scours the scene for a discarded purse or pocket book. Simmons is talking to the officer who found the body.

She widens her search, the fog swallowing the second crime scene, the moon behind the clouds and for a moment she feels utterly alone. Her flashlight flickers, then dies and she shakes it, stepping back and bumping into something. She wheels round to see a figure looming over her. Heart thumping, she stifles a scream just as her flashlight comes back to life and she see the marble statue of an angel. Berating herself for her foolishness, she heads back, aware again of the light woody fragrance she had smelt earlier.

"We'll need more light for a proper search. No ID?"

"No, not on the body. Gunshot wound like the male DB, and it looks like she was dumped here, too." Goren stands, peeling off his latex gloves. There's a small smile as he adds "And, uh, no garlic."

The grey light of dawn is creeping over the city as they finally leave the cemetery and they head home for a few hours of sleep before following up on the night's grim discoveries. The damp chill has settled into Alex's bones and she is grateful for the hot shower but she can't seem to dispel that lingering scent. Just as she's drifting off to sleep, she realises why it is so familiar. It was the one that Joe used to wear...


	2. Stench

" _Not more cologne, every Christmas it's the same..."_

"_She doesn't know it's not your thing. Actually, this one's not bad... try it."_

"_Alex..."_

"_C'mon, it'll please her... please me." _

"_Mmm, smells good, and that feels good..."_

" _Wear some of that cologne... please."_

"_Oh, someone's in the mood, I can tell from that lovely smell..."_

_Smells so good, feels so good, smellsgood feelsgood smells feels smell feel feel – oh, so good... _

Alex arrived at 1PP feeling out of sorts. Her sleep had been restless and plagued with memories of Joe; snippets of conversations, scents and sensations. She had woken with tears drying on her cheeks and his scent still lingering in her nostrils.

Bobby, as usual, had arrived before her and was sitting at his desk , head resting on his hand, in that pose he always adopted when he was lost in thought; his version of Rodin's 'The Thinker.' Curious as to what was holding his attention, Alex moved to his side to try to look at the paperwork and was struck again by a waft of that distinctive fragrance. It was him! Surprised, she edged a little closer to him to confirm her suspicion.

Bobby was brought out of his reverie by the realisation that Eames was standing very close to him, peering over his right shoulder. She'd gotten very close in the cemetery yesterday, too – both times, she'd been a little closer than necessary... A brief flicker of hopeful speculation crossed his mind before his thoughts returned to the case.

"We've got an ID on the second body. Her prints came back as Jonelle Uttley, aged 20, two convictions for shoplifting."

"A white middle- aged male and a young black female...looks like we've got an equal opportunity perp. Any news from the morgue?"

"They're backed up from Halloween; it'll be a few hours yet. Who do you want to take first?"

Jonelle still lived at home; her parents made matching bookends of grief on their sofa.

"Jojo was a good girl, really. She just got in with wrong crowd..."

"Mom, she hated being called Jojo – said it was too babyish. Get that right, at least!" The sister, her own grief presenting as anger, stormed out of the room, slamming the door, Bobby following her shortly after.

"Did you find anything out from the sister?" Alex was puzzled that, in the confines of the SUV, she couldn't smell Bobby's aftershave, was also a little puzzled why he had started wearing it. Maybe a new girlfriend? Trying to attract someone's attention? Her attention? If so, how did he know about that particular...Bobby's reply broke into her train of thought.

"Not much. She didn't have a boyfriend, was trying to straighten herself out. No reason to be in the cemetery, or even that part of town. Oh, and prefers to be called 'Jo.' "

Davenport's apartment was a depressingly familiar bachelor pad. Tired utilitarian furniture; the only comfort was the recliner in front of the large TV. Little was gleaned from their careful search and, feeling despondent, the detectives returned to the squad room.

"Rodgers was looking for you, she's finished the autopsies." Deakins paused on the way to his office. "Any leads?"

"No, we were hoping that Rodgers may have something..."

Alex was aware of pangs of hunger, and she was now caught in the dilemma of whether to eat before or after a visit to the morgue. Either choice was an unappetising prospect. One look at Bobby's face, eager for fresh information, made the choice for her. Food would have to wait.

Riding the elevator down, she was again surprised to note no smell of aftershave on her partner. She inhaled deeply. No, there was the stale air of the elevator, the faint trace of sweat, the smell of starch from Bobby's shirt but no light woody fragrance...

"Ah, Detectives! Where do you want to start?" Rodgers' copper- tinted hair seemed to fluoresce under the harsh lights, bringing a welcome flash of colour to the grim room. "Mr. Davenport? Massive trauma to the abdomen caused by a gunshot wound, he bled out..." She catches Bobby's impatient glance. "But the interesting thing is that there are indications that some form of compression was applied to the wound, and that he was alive for up to 24 hours following the initial trauma."

She pointed to the edges of the gaping hole in the deceased's belly, which looked even more obscene against the clean and naked skin of the corpse. Both detectives moved over to take a closer look and Alex was suddenly overcome by a powerful wave of nausea caused by the cloying smell of cologne mixed with the stench of decomp. Grimacing against the rising bile, she gasped out;

"What about the smell?"

"Oh, that..." Rodgers' tone was casually dismissive. "It seems our DB was a big fan of garlic, it's the allicin and its sulphur by-products, comes out in the pores. "

Garlic? Alex was dumbfounded. There was no smell of garlic, just that disgustingly sweet but sickly stink.

"As for Ms. Uttley, similar story." Rodgers carried on, blithely. "Although I'd estimate TOD as several hours later than Mr Davenport. And no garlic." Echoing Bobby's words from the night before.

Alex tried to concentrate as her partner discussed the case further with the medical examiner but she was struggling to fight back the gorge rising. Eventually, she succumbed and bolted for the nearest restroom, heaving up strings of bile and thankful for her empty stomach. Eventually, the retching subsided even if the nausea and smell didn't. After splashing her face with cold water, she left the restroom to find Bobby waiting for her in the corridor.

"You got something 'awesome' to tell me?" His words were a reference to the way she had broken the news of her surrogacy to him, and there was a look of consternation on his face.

"Nah, just low blood sugar mixed with the smell, it's been a while since lunch." Her stomach heaved again at the mention of food and the smell. "Or maybe I'm coming down with something..."

"The garlic was pretty ripe. Why don't you, uh, head off? There's not much more that can be done tonight, we're still waiting on Forensics and the ballistics report."

Gratefully, she followed his suggestion and headed towards the elevator; still sick to her stomach, still dogged by the smell that no one else was aware of and oblivious of the look of consternation that had not left her partner's face.

Although she scrubbed and scrubbed herself that night in the shower, she couldn't get rid of the stench.


	3. Melody

_A chink of glasses, cheers and the cries for a song. Joe's deep blue eyes twinkling as he draws breath and begins;_

"_I've been a wild rover for many's a year..."_

_The whistled refrain as he sits at the kitchen table, stripping down and cleaning his gun. The muscles flexing in his sturdy forearms and his strong hands working capably and with precision. _

_Humming under his breath as he buttons up his shirt, covering the fine body he had just shared with her..._

"_And I'll play the wild rover, no never, no more..." _

There were so many memories, so many ways to miss him.

The melody was stuck in her head, playing over and over as the memories of him played over and over in her mind. But at least there was no smell. Alex had woken to the sleep- laden scent of warm bedding and had breathed a deep sigh of relief. Famished, she made herself a huge breakfast, turning on the radio as she waited for the next round of toast to be done.

"...another grey and gloomy day, I'm afraid." The announcer sounded as if he was relishing the prospect. "And by special request, here's something to brighten your day; The Pogues with their version of that old favourite 'The Wild Rover'..." The plate slid from her hands in her surprise, and as she crouched to pick up the pieces, the strains of that so familiar tune filled the room. Coincidence, it was just a coincidence...

Alex was humming the song as she entered the squad room, unable to get it out of her mind. Bobby was pouring himself a mug of coffee and they exchanged nods of greeting. Moving to his side, Alex grabbed a mug of her own, taking the opportunity to have a surreptitious sniff. No light woody fragrance, no cloying cologne, just Bobby's usual clean smell and the aroma of freshly brewed coffee. She was aware of the relief in her voice as she answered Bobby's query.

"Much better, thanks. Anything from Forensics?"

"Not yet, this Halloween must have been a doozy. But the ballistic report's in..."

They walked companionably to their desks. Bobby took a moment to check her over as she stowed her coat and bag. Her face was back to its normal shade, no trace of the unhealthy pallor remaining. She looked good, actually. He was aware his gaze was lingering, checking out the rest of her shapely form and reluctantly dragged his thoughts back to the case.

"Hollowpoints, too damaged to get a match on the gun, but Ballistics reckon it's most likely a Glock...Are you humming?"

"Yeah, sorry, got a song stuck in my head."

She's interrupted by the arrival of one of the support staff carrying a couple of plastic tubs of evidence. Eagerly Bobby dived in, rifling through the bags like a kid at Christmas while Alex looked over the accompanying folder.

"Uttley's purse turned up, the contents should be in the box."

The morning was spent going through the evidence; the song still plaguing Alex, giving her a headache and making it difficult to concentrate. Frustrated, she decided she needed a break and some fresh air.

"I'm going out to grab some lunch, you want anything?"

There was a long line at the crowded deli, and Alex stood waiting for a while, listening to the chatter and the medley of Irish folk tunes playing in the background, and remembering.

_Dancing lightly, dancing tightly to the fiddlers playing in the pub. Dancing a more private dance, holding him tighter still. No never, no more..._

The lyrics in her head coincided with the music in the deli, and she felt the sudden urge to cry.

"I think we've got another one!"

Bobby's excitement momentarily made him forget his manners as Alex passed him the sandwich.

"Uh...thanks. I've been going through the crime sheets and there was a body found last night in a cemetery over at Queens. Gunshot wound. I've asked them to send over the details..." He paused, noting Alex's lack of enthusiasm, noticing also that her earlier bright demeanour was now replaced with look that was tired and drawn.

"You OK?"

"Yeah, fine. Lay off the whistling!"

This last was snapped at Petronelli who had come over with the faxed reports, cheerfully whistling a catchy tune. Bobby felt his concern increase as he watched this rare display of irritation from a woman who usually used humour to relieve any tension. After shooting a quick glance at Bobby daring him to comment, Alex looked over the fax.

"You could be right. Jonah Toliver, white male, 19, gunshot wound to the stomach. Fragments of a hollowpoint bullet found in the wound. He was a junkie; locals figured it was a drug deal gone bad. No mention of being kept alive, we'll have to get Rodgers to take another look."

A visit to the latest victim's girlfriend took up a large chunk of the afternoon. Their squat was squalid and she was heavily pregnant and aggravated by having to go over the details yet again.

"No, I don't know what he was doing in the fucking graveyard. He hated them, said it gave him the creeps. I haven't seen him for a coupla days, thought the fucker had run out on me..."

Her pissy attitude gave way to tears and Alex could provide scant comfort. Bobby was poking about in the junk scattered about the room, occasionally stooping to examine something that caught his eye.

"Jonah go to the theatre?"

He was holding up a gaudily printed ticket. Alex remembered there were tickets in Uttley's purse and Davenport's wallet, but they were not from the same theatre and neither was as colourful as this one.

"What? No! Not unless it was a sex show, and where would he get the cash? He shot every last cent up his arm." The girlfriend's tears returned, and her voice became muffled as she buried her face in her hands. "Joe, he was always called Joe, got fed up with people asking him about the whale..."

Joe? Alex shook her head, dismissing it as another coincidence, aware that her husband was at the forefront of her mind these last couple of days, what with the smell and the song. Perhaps she had not dealt with her grief as well as she'd thought. Perhaps she had just tucked it away, as raw as that first day as a widow, ready to bleed anew at the slightest trigger. Perhaps she just needed to go home and have a good cry...

That's exactly what she did.


	4. Cacophony

"_Love you always."_

"_No never, no more..."_

"_Till death do us part..."_

"_No never, no more..."_

"_You're my everything, my sun and my moon, my reason for living, my inspiration, my strength, my hopes and my dreams, you're why I get up in the morning and why I look forward to going to bed, you're soft summer rain, the warmth of the harvest, you're Christmas cheer and the fresh buds of spring, you're 365 days of my life, of my loving, you're my Lexie..."_

"_No never, no more..."_

The shrill ring roused Alex from sleep filled with echoes of his voice and that mournful refrain. She stretched out to grab for her phone, the photo album sliding from her lap where she had nodded off wrapped in the comfort of a blanket and the memories of him.

"Huh? Another? "

She rubbed her neck, trying to ease the crick from lying at an awkward angle, trying to listen to what her partner was saying, trying not to think of how Joe's magic fingers could loosen every knotted muscle.

"_No never, no more..."_

The air was chilly and her breath fogged up the windows of her car. She watched in bewilderment as a heart appeared, sketched in the condensation. Joe used to do that; leave messages and doodles to be revealed at a later time.

"_No never, no more..."_

But Joe was dead, rotting away in his grave; this was just some sick joke. Frustration and the beginnings of another headache made her thoughts harsh. With irritation she took a rag, scrubbed at the glass and turned the blowers on full. As it was nearly 2am the traffic was light and the warm air from the heater made her feel a little sleepy so she turned on the radio.

"...and I'll play the wild rover..." Fuck! She stabbed at the buttons, trying to select another station.

"...no, nay, never, no more..." Fuck! Fuck! Every channel was playing that infernal song and she snapped the radio off, exasperated.

Bobby was alarmed at the tyres screeching as Alex's car pulled up at the curb; she was usually a competent driver, not prone to reckless manoeuvres. He was even more alarmed to see the hectic flush on her cheeks and her thinned lips. Her whole body was taut, screaming with antagonism and he decided it would be wiser to keep quiet, not wanting to aggravate the situation. The journey to the latest crime scene was silent and tense.

He winced a little as the car door slammed, watched Alex take a deep breath and saw some of the tension drain away as she exhaled. Finally it felt safe enough to speak.

"Security patrol called it in, there's been a lot of vandalism in the churchyard recently and the Diocese decided to take some action. Briscoe!"

"Hi, Goren. Saw your alert, took one look at the body and thought we'd better call you. Ed's over there talking to the security guys. You wanna take a look?"

Bobby flicked a quick glance towards Alex, who was already striding towards the huddled group.

"Sure, what time did the...uh...call come in?"

Briscoe filled him in on the details as they made their way over to the cordoned off area. Bobby looked at the scene with a depressing sense of déjà vu. Another body, another gaping stomach wound.

"Josefa Tavares, 67, according to her driver's license. " Briscoe's voice taking on a sombre tone. "A bit of a regular around here."

"Came every day to her son's grave." Alex had joined them. "Security say they saw her the day before yesterday coming out of Mass, but not since. Ed's going to check with the Father."

She looked down at the plump, grey haired woman, at the face that had probably been kindly in life but was now slack and empty in death. Looked at the destruction of a belly that had once borne a son, a son she had outlived. Thought of another wound, another body, another grave and found she could look no more.

"_No never, no more..."_

With an abrupt turn, she strode off.

"_With my body I honour you..."_

"_No never, no more..."_

"_All that I am I give to you..."_

"_No never, no more..."_

"_My Lexie, my love, my lover, lovely Lexie, love you..."_

"_No never, no more..."_

The relentless torment of his words, his song. The persistent memories, coming wave after wave. The dull continual thud of her headache, the sharp pain behind her eyes. She longed for relief, for comfort.

"_No never, no more..."_

Longed to be held, to be hugged, to feel strong arms around her, to feel gentle hands stroke her back...

"_No never, no more..."_

When Bobby came to stand by her side, he was surprised to find he was suddenly grasped in a fierce embrace. Momentarily taken aback, his hands hovered ineffectually before he gave into the feelings that he'd been keeping at bay and he wrapped his arms around her. He stroked her hair and rocked gently, trying to soothe whatever storms were wracking her, his mind filled with worry and care.

Alex buried her face in the warm wool of his coat, trying to block out the barrage of internal noise with his body, his bulk. Feeling desperate, feeling guilty. Guilty that she was using him as a substitute. That his arms were longer than the ones she yearned for, his body broader than the one she longed to hold. That her face was pressed to his chest, not resting on the shoulder she missed so much. But appreciating his compassion, his care, his tender touch.

"_No never, no more..."_

Experiencing feelings that had been absent for so long; feelings of being cherished...loved.

"_No never, no more..."_

The thudding in her brain reached a crescendo and there was a sudden onslaught of the cloying stench. She tore herself from his arms and violently vomited.

Alex remained doubled over, her hands resting on her knees, her breath coming in gulps. Each lungful of air seemed to clear the smell, quieten the noise, still her mind. She began to feel a sense of clarity, of calm, return.

Bobby had now recovered from the shock and was heading towards her, a distressed look on his face, a hand outstretched.

"Alex? What the hell's going..."

As he neared, the thudding and the smell returned, increasing as he came closer. Another wave of nausea washed over Alex, and she cried out.

"Back off, Bobby! Just...back off."

"_No never, no more..."_


	5. Clarity

"Er...Detectives?"

Ed's hesitant words were like a splash of cold water. Alex blinked. There was no cloying cologne, just the fetid smell of her vomit; no thudding, only the rattle and hum of the generators powering the floodlights. No pain, no song, just the confused and worried look on her partner's face...

"You should come and have a look at this."

Ed's voice was more insistent and Bobby struggled to bring his mind back to the case. Torn between his concern for Alex and the demands of the crime scene, he dithered. Seeing his dilemma, Alex waved him away.

"Go. I'm OK. I'll catch up in a minute."

Reluctantly, Bobby joined Ed; his troubled thoughts still preoccupied with Alex, her nausea, her outbursts, the haggard look on her face...and the shameful acknowledgement that, even in her distress, how wonderful it had felt to hold her, to touch her, to feel her body pressed against his.

Alex watched the two tall, dark men leave, their long black coats flapping like crow's wings around their legs and berated herself for her weakness. Throwing up at crime scenes and the morgue, snapping and snarling, the headaches and the strange smells – perhaps she ought to see a doctor. OK, but what about the constant reminders of Joe, the pervasive memories, the huge hole in her heart, the aching need for him that had led her to reach out for a surrogate? Maybe some grief counselling was in order. Doctor and a shrink, then. She'd heard Olivet was good...

Mind made up, feeling more in control, she headed off after the men.

The leaves were piled up high in the corner of the graveyard, almost to the height of the stone wall. Camouflaged by a brown sweater, filthy face and a grubby beige coat, the dead bum was almost invisible amongst the detritus of Fall. The crime scene photographer was capturing the details in a strobe- like succession of flashes.

"One of the techs found him when he came over here for a sly smoke."

The tone in Lenny's voice made it perfectly clear what he thought of the tech and his actions. As Alex joined the group, Bobby could not resist touching her arm, unsure if he was showing her his support or reassuring himself. She signalled her acknowledgement with a smile and, determined to prove she was up to the job in hand she beat Bobby to examining the corpse.

Brushing leaves away she revealed another stomach wound; the ragged edges strangely appropriate amongst the tattered clothes. No ID in the pockets, just a few half smoked butts, a couple of dimes and a theatre ticket.

"Does he look like the type to be a fan of Chekhov to you?"

She passed the ticket over to Bobby, who shrugged, and returned her attention to the body. She tilted the head, her movements more brisk than her partner's, who always seemed to touch the deceased with reverence, and found herself staring into Joe's eyes.

No, not Joe's eyes; just the eyes of the victim, just eyes that were the same shade of blue, had the same grey flecks, were as flat and lifeless as the eyes that she had stared into as the doctor pronounced the time of death.

The photographer's camera flashed again and, for a moment, the blue eyes seemed to twinkle...

The car windows misted up again, mirroring the return of the fog to the dreary beginnings of the day. Alex was relieved that no hidden message was revealed, and remembering the way Bobby had held her earlier, wondered if he had been the one...

Five corpses took precedence over two tired detectives and, by mutual agreement, they headed over to 1PP, grabbing some takeout breakfast on the way. Bobby pinned photographs and other scraps of evidence to the board in one of the interview rooms and Alex reviewed the files. Still feeling embarrassed by her earlier behaviour, Alex was thankful for Bobby's single- minded focus on the case and they worked in near silence, the only interruptions were the occasional comment on an interesting piece of information. They were just starting their second cups of coffee when Deakins stopped by on the way to his office.

"Got an update?"

Alex laid out their findings so far.

"So, you thinking a serial?"

Bobby chimed in.

"Yes, and uh, no. Same COD, similar dump sites. We're waiting on Rodgers to see if the latest three victims had also been alive for some time after the initial trauma. But there are no similarities in the victims; white, black, Hispanic... male, female... young, old...and no connection between them."

"Any closer to getting an ID on the John Doe?"

Bobby swivelled and stared at the board for a moment.

"More like Joe Bloggs...see ? Joseph, usually shortened to Joe. Jonelle, who didn't like being called Jojo anymore, Jonah running from the whale, Josepha..."

Listening to Bobby, Alex was glad that, although there was link to the name Joe, it was not a personal connection, and that her suppressed grief had probably led her to see a deeper meaning. She set herself a mental reminder. Must call Olivet...and the doctor!

"Call your contacts in the military, most itinerants are vets and check out the FBI database for similar MO's. And see if there's any link between those tickets."

Deakins left the detectives to their inquiries and the remains of their coffee.

"You doing OK? "

Bobby's question was well intended, but Alex felt an irrational flash of irritation at his solicitude.

"I'm fine, Bobby. You call your buddy and I'll check the FBI files."

And she was fine.

The morning passed quickly. Rodgers confirmed their suspicions about all the victims surviving for at least several hours after the initial wound, and that there were indications that all had received some form of first aid. The VA hospital identified the 'John Doe' as Joey Odell (another Joe!) and sent over his details. And after some laborious cross checking, they arrived at a short list of three stage hands and gophers that had all been associated with the various productions that the victims all had tickets for.

Yes, she was fine.

She was not thinking of another Joe, not thinking of another gunshot wound, not thinking of another stomach trauma, not thinking of the agonising hours he had taken to die, not thinking of blue twinkling eyes so full of life, not thinking of flat eyes so empty in death...

No, not at all.


	6. Confusion

Tired, oh God, she was tired.

They'd worked nearly twelve hours straight and had plans to interview the stagehands this afternoon. Alex found that she had stared at the same paragraph for a while now, and she still hadn't taken in its meaning. Her eyes were gritty and her head was woolly but there was a restlessness in her body due to the numerous cups of coffee. Even her partner was showing signs of flagging. He'd adopted his 'Thinker' pose, but there was no suggestion of a brain busy at work. Droopy lids shaded his eyes, stubble shadowed his face and his usually fidgety fingers were at rest.

"Let's take a break, freshen up and regroup."

Not enough time for a trip home, so Alex headed for the locker rooms where there were showers and her kit bag of fresh clothes. She looked longingly at the row of cots but the thought of five bodies laid out on metal trolleys put her off. The water felt heavenly and she turned the temperature up as she let the hot water ease the tension from her shoulders and neck, let its needling stream massage the gritty tiredness away.

Clouds of steam billowed around her as she opened the cubicle door, wrapping a towel around her. She used a smaller towel to rub her hair, glanced over at the mirrors lining the wall opposite and froze in shock.

Each was steamed up and each bore a message.

'UR mine,' 'XXX', 'luv u',' XOXO', '4ever' and smiley faces and hearts and... and...

The room spun and she clutched the nearest cold sink to steady herself. It was just a prank, just messages left by some else for some else. She took several deep breathes. But one mirror bore the legend 'Lexie' and no one called her that but Joe...

She dressed in haste, all the benefits of the shower forgotten, and rushed out of the room and into Bobby, who was clean-shirted and freshly shaven. A welcome sight, indeed.

"Bobby! Get in here. Now!"

Bobby stopped dead, stunned by the sight of a damp –haired, frantic Alex demanding he go into the women's locker room with her. A multitude of possible explanations tumbled through his mind; some scary, some frankly salacious...but all with an underlying tone of panic. He realised that the answers were only to be found in action, not thought and followed her through the door.

"Go in there and take a look... Just look!"

Alex forestalled his question and gestured towards the shower area. He cautiously stepped in and circled around. The layout was similar to the men's version, just a couple more stalls where the urinals would be, but nothing obviously amiss.

"Do you see it?"

"See what?"

Alex entered and glanced about; the steam had subsided and the messages had vanished. No proof, no evidence...

Bobby stood, studying her expression, and waited for her to explain. She looked at the worry and confusion on his face and felt suddenly guilty for keeping him in the dark.

"Let's talk over lunch. I just want to get out of here..."

It felt good to eat fresh food off china plates; too many meals seemed to be eaten out of bags or cardboard containers. It felt good to finally talk, to let it all out...

"Make those calls, Alex."

Bobby's hand reached out and took hers, but it brought no comfort, just that sickly smell and the return of the nausea. She snatched her own hand away and noted that the smell vanished as she broke contact...

The afternoon was a trial.

Bobby's concern was palpable, almost cloying. As cloying as the stench that rose every time he tried to touch her. She struggled to concentrate during the first interview but the words of the stagehand set off echoes in her mind.

"I don't work for that troupe no more."

"_No never, no more..."_

"Lexington Avenue was my last job"

"_My Lexie_ ..."

"Shame , I really loved it"

"_Love you..."_

Bobby insisted she call the doctor, stood over her as she made an appointment for the following day. Stood too close, sickening her. The headache made an unwelcome return along with the longing for relief, for comfort, for Joe...

The second interview was a non-starter; the man in question had been injured in a road accident and was now confined to a wheel chair. The final interview of the day was in a small run down theatre, which had a neglected air about it. As they waited for the door to be answered, Alex found herself wishing it were over, wishing the day was at an end, wishing she could get away from Bobby, wishing she could get away from the smell and all the noise...

The stage hand's name was Carl Bennett, an unassuming name for an unassuming man. They followed him into his workroom where he was building props for the next show. Alex hung back, for once letting Bobby take the lead.

"You do good work, Mr. Bennett. That's an intricate bit of fretwork there."

"Not really, it'll pass from a distance. My stuff's just average. An average Joe, that's me..."

At the word 'Joe', Alex felt an eerie calm come over her, and she turned to look at Bennett more carefully. At first glance, nothing had stood out about the man but as she watched him talk with her partner while sanding down the rough edges on a piece of wood, she began to see more. There was something familiar about his posture, the way his hands worked the wood, the rhythm and patterns of his speech...

Don't be daft, she berated herself. He's nothing like Joe; different height, different build, different age...But the way his muscles flexed in his forearms, the way he slightly favoured his left leg...

"Isn't that right, Detective?"

Bennett had spoken to her, and Alex looked up from his hands to meet his eyes. Eyes that darkened into a richer shade of blue, that twinkled. Joe's eyes.

Suddenly, it was as if the world faded away; all the noise dissipated, the headache was gone. There was no cloying cologne, just that light woody fragrance that she found so appealing, so sexy. Joe looked at her with the smile that used to melt her heart, was melting her now and she could see the chipped tooth that she used to explore with her tongue as they kissed. An overwhelming sense of wellbeing flooded her; it felt like coming home after a long, difficult journey. The longing to be held was replaced with the longing to touch, to feel and she felt her hands move, as if of their own volition...

"Sorry to have disturbed you, Mr. Bennett. We'll show ourselves out."

Bobby's voice brought the world crashing back in. There was the dusty work room, an impatient Bobby clutching his binder, an utterly unremarkable man staring at her in a puzzled fashion. But no Joe, he was gone.

She had lost him, all over again...


	7. Touch

The day was over, at last.

Alex returned to a home filled with reminders of her life with Joe, each one emphasising how desolate her life was without him. She curled up in their bed that had once been a place rich with sharing and now was barren, and gave in to her exhaustion.

_...butterfly kisses; eyelashes flickering against each other...cool minty toothpaste, hot breath, lips touching...the shiver of thumb stroking collarbone...probing fingertips finding knots, firm fingers loosening them...the back of a hand caressing cheek...palm cupping chin...hand trails... finger trails... tongue trails..._

So many ways to touch, to be touched. So many more ways to miss him.

She awoke with nerve endings alight, hypersensitive to the feel of soft cotton, cool air, warm water, gentle soap suds, rough towel...to every stimulus.

Bobby covertly watched his partner as she settled herself at her desk, searching for any further symptoms. He'd added the strange fugue he'd observed yesterday, when they had interviewed Bennett, to his growing list and was fighting hard not to give in to the urge to dive into the text books in an attempt at diagnosis. He knew it would only add to his mounting fear.

She looked well this morning, if a little fidgety. And she was off to the doctor's this afternoon. Good. His worry abated enough to allow him turn his attention back to the investigation.

"Let's go over it again."

They re- read statements, reviewed autopsy reports, reconsidered the evidence. Alex felt the frustration building, just as the tension was building in her body. Every movement made her aware of how the collar of her blouse stroked her throat, the stiff waistband of her pants dug into her waist, the hard tops of her boots rubbed her calves, the lace and satin of her bra firmly cupped her breasts, the taut elastic of her panties pressed and pulled...Frustration of a different kind was building.

Needing to move, needing to break the tension, she abruptly stood up, feeling the clatter of shocks and jangles across her body, and headed over to study the corkboard with its grim gallery. Bobby rose also and came to stand behind her.

"What is it?"

Too near! Please, don't touch... Please, touch...He did.

She felt his fingertips on her elbow and a bolt of pain shot up her arm. His hand jerked back and he uttered a yelp.

"Whoa! That's some static!" He shook his hand and his head, both actions stopping suddenly as he looked at the board again.

"You know, we've missed something. 2 DB's at the first and last crime scenes, a male and a female, only one..."

"...at Queens." Alex finished the sentence for him, feeling the stirrings of excitement. Nothing peculiar, just that good old gut instinct. "The one crime scene we didn't visit. We gotta take a look."

They grabbed their coats and hurried out.

Fearsome iron railings surrounded the crowded ranks of gravestones, which echoed the Manhattan skyline in the distance. Bobby and Alex split up and began to search the area. Gaudy bouquets of hothouse flowers looked incongruous amongst the markers of death and the rustling leaves of another dying year. Alex paused by one headstone, but in her mind's eye she was seeing another. One that celebrated a cop, a man, a husband. One that signposted the grave that contained not only his body, but her hopes and dreams, her love, her life...

Gentle fingers ran down her spine, brushed her waist, entwined with hers. She turned to Bobby... who wasn't there. He was by the railings and was poking something with a stick.

"Eames! Over here!"

Quickly, she made her way over to him, trying to shake loose the sensation of spectral fingers.

"Do you smell that?" He wafted his hand towards his nose, like a connoisseur savouring the bouquet of a fine wine. "Decomp!"

Further poking with his stick among the dead flowers and rotting leaves in the compost heap revealed the source. Another victim, in a more advanced state of decay than the others, and probably female, judging by the clothes. They called it in and waited for the reinforcements to arrive.

"Shouldn't you be heading off?"

Alex checked her watch. There was just time enough to grab some lunch on her way to the doctor's office.

"What about you?"

"I'll hitch a ride back with one of the troops. Call me?"

"Sure."

_...the tongue twirled around her ear... toyed with the trio of gems, one for each year of their marriage... traced the line of her jaw...played in the hollows made by her collarbone...her nipples crimped and peaked as it teased ... her stomach quivered at its meandering path... hips lifting, legs opening, welcoming...long licks, strong licks, short strokes and dabs...over and over and over and over ... oh god, oh god, oh ..._

"Joe!"

Alex cried out, panting, muscles twitching with the aftershocks of her climax. Her head fell forward to rest on the steering wheel of the SUV. Her breathing calmed and she felt the empty ache, not just in her heart but lower, deeper. Dazed, she looked around and realised that she was parked outside the run- down theatre they had visited yesterday.

How had she got here? She was confused. Confused by the scent teasing her nostrils, the words of love echoing around her head, the tendrils of touch, stroking, caressing her skin, the aching need in her loins, in her heart...

The door to the theatre opened and Joe smiled. Filled with joy, Alex stepped into the welcoming circle of his arms.


	8. Torture

Bobby considered his brown paper lunch bag and discovered he didn't have much of an appetite. Not because of the grisly time spent in the company of a rotting corpse. Not because of the 'before and after' pictures of death's dreadful makeover staring down at him. These were the unfortunately familiar aspects to his life. As was eating alone.

In fact, when he shared a meal these days, more often than not it was with Alex.

Alex...who would be now sitting in the doctor's waiting area, flicking through a dated magazine. He wondered if the same fears and worries were going through her head that were going through his. He should have gone with her. He glanced at the tubs of evidence stacked at the end of the table, at the pile of manila folders lying next to them, at the board full of silent victims needing a voice to speak up for them. She would know, would understand; he had work to do. Anyway, she will call him...

He drained the dregs of his coffee, shucked off his jacket and started going over the statements relating to this latest victim.

"_Listen to me, Lexie. Listen to my words of longing. How I'm cold and lonely, how I've missed your warmth. It is dark and empty here. I need the light of your life; I pine for your presence to fill this void. Listen to my longing, to my love, my Lexie, my love..._

She listened.

"Autopsy report's in. Must've fast tracked it." Deakins paused in the doorway. "Where's your partner?"

"Got a doctor's appointment, she'll be back later."

"Anything I need to know about?"

Bobby started to read Rodgers' report, feeling a touch resentful that the captain had intruded on his work and his private worries.

"If there is, she'll tell you."

After she's told me, because I need to know, because the waiting is killing me...

The medical examiner had got an ID on the latest victim from a surgical pin. Joanne Nash, 31, a marketing assistant for a minor publishing firm. Bobby dragged the whiteboard to the centre of the room, rolled up his sleeves to prevent the ink smudging on his cuffs, and began to write the names of the victims on the board.

Joseph Davenport -Jonelle Uttley – Jonah Toliver – Josefa Tavares – Joey Odell ... and now Joanne Nash.

All Joes. He stared at the board, head tilted, trying to see if there were any other patterns, trying to avoid staring at the clock ticking away the minutes of her appointment.

"_Dance with me, Lexie. Let me take you in my arms, let me hold you close as we swirl and twirl, let me make you giddy with the dance, with my love. Dance with me, Lexie my love, until the end of time..."_

She danced.

Davenport, Uttley, Toliver, Tavares, Odell, Nash. D.U.T.T...

Dutton. Why was that familiar? Bobby groped about in the corners of his memory. Joe Dutton... Alex's husband, the cop killed on duty. He hurried over to the computer on his desk to pull up the details of his death. Gunshot wound to the stomach. Glock. Hollowpoint bullet. Survived for a day after the shooting.

The shockingly familiar details.

Christ, no wonder Alex was so tetchy. She'd never mentioned any of this...He checked his watch, surely the appointment must be over by now. But why hasn't she called? He checked his phone for messages or missed calls, checked he had a signal, checked his desk for any notes in case she had called the switchboard...started to feel a little frantic. He needed to talk to her about this, he needed to know how she got on, he needed...her.

"_Touch me, Lexie. Let me feel your caress. I'm so numb, I need to feel. Need to feel your warmth, your loving, your heart. I am deprived of sensation, I need to be touched. Need your touch, your tenderness, your gentle kiss. Touch me, my lover, my Lexie, touch me..." _

She touched.

Bobby slammed the phone down on the desk. No answer! He'd left a message, and just to be sure, had left another on her landline, and sent a text...

"Detective?"

"WHAT?"

He rounded on the woman tentatively trying to pass a folder to him. He snatched it from her, and she hastened away. Get a grip, Goren! He took a couple of deep breaths and loosened his tie. She's probably having some tests, maybe she can't use her cell there...A nominal level of control restored, he looked at the report. It was the results from Forensics on what was left of Nash's clothes. Bloodstains. Gunpowder residue. Mold and rotted organic material, probably from the compost heap. Sawdust. Cat hairs... Sawdust?

His mind went back to Bennett and his intricate fretwork, to the strange trance that had come over Alex and panic flared again.

"_Love me, Lexie. Fill me with your affection, your care. Pour your heart, your soul, your love into me. I need your love, your loving. Love me, Lexie, love me..." _

She loved him.

"Ms Eames? She was a no show. No, she didn't cancel, didn't call. She just didn't come in."

Bobby hung up on the receptionist, icy fingers of dread running down his spine. Deakins started as Bobby crashed into his office, words and worry pouring out in a torrent.

"Get out an APB on the SUV. I'll call Carver for a warrant for the theatre."

Deakins' brusqueness belied his own worry. There was a flurry of activity as Bobby made the necessary calls, donned his Kevlar vest and checked his gun; the years of training and practice allowing him to do this on automatic pilot, leaving his mind free to fret. Tucking a spare magazine into his pocket, he glanced up to see the captain approaching, similarly clad and armed. The two anxious men regarded each other for a second, then Deakins said;

"Let's do this."

They went.

"_Come with me, Lexie. Come with me into eternity. Bring your life, your love and come with me, forever more. Come with me, my love. Come with me, my lover. Come with me, my Lexie, come..."_

She went.


	9. Dreams

There was the SUV! He was right! She was here!

Bobby's brief surge of elation quickly vanished as the implications rammed home. The journey had been interminable, despite the sirens and flashing lights, despite New York traffic being unusually cooperative, despite Deakins driving at break neck speed. Now all Bobby wanted to do was charge into the theatre. Deakins' hand on his arm restrained him.

"Let the Entry Team lead."

He knew there were procedures, knew there had to be for safety reasons, knew that it would be self defeating if he were to burst through the door only to be shot. But this was Alex! It would be worth it, if the last thing he saw was her, safe and well...His hands clenched and unclenched, knee bouncing as the Tactical Advisor finished his briefing.

At last! They were ready.

Alex wept, the tears of joy streaming down her face only to be kissed away by lips she had thought were forever lost.

" _My lips are yours, Lexie, for evermore." _

She pictured a future of wake up kisses, off to work kisses, I'm home kisses, dinner smells good kisses, snuggled on the sofa kisses, suggestive kisses, sexy kisses, love you kisses, make it better kisses, I'm sorry kisses, I missed you kisses, all of Joe's kisses ...and wanted it.

"Clear!" "Clear!" "Clear!"

The shouts echoed around the theatre, each sounding like a death knell to his hopes. Bobby floundered; mind lost in panic and fear, unsure what to do next. One of the tactical team threw him a lifeline.

"You need to see this, Detective."

He followed the officer through the workshop where he had spoken to Bennett only yesterday, but a lifetime ago. What he had thought was a padlocked cupboard then, now stood with its door hanging loose where a crowbar had pried it open, revealing a narrow stairway leading underground. He paused on the threshold, reluctant to face his greatest fear. Correctly reading his apprehension, the officer said gently;

"She's not there, but you need to look."

Bobby descended into the dimly lit depths, becoming increasingly aware of the putrid smell. He turned left at the bottom of the steps and ducked his head to pass through a low stone archway into Hell.

Alex sighed and she felt his arms tighten around her in an embrace she had thought she would never feel again.

"_My arms are yours, Lexie, for eternity." _

She pictured a future of happy to see you hugs, comfort me cuddles, slow dance squeezes, back seat canoodles, naked panting clinches, all of Joe's embraces...and wanted it badly.

Bobby's mind reeled as he tried to take in the sight before him.

The sickly yellow light from the single bulb illuminated stone walls more suited to a cave than a cellar. The bare mattress on the iron cot was stained and clotted with blood. There was more blood on the cotton pads and bandages strewn about the floor. But worst was the blood on the walls; the gory graffiti spelling the word 'Lexie' over and over...

"Fuck!"

Deakins rarely uttered profanities and, startled, Bobby turned to look at him. Deakins gestured loosely at the walls.

"Lexie. Is that...?"

"A shortened form of Alexandra? Yes."

It felt wrong to invoke her name in this malignant place. Wrong because it conjured up images of her lying on that cot, desperately clutching bandages to the remains of her stomach, desperately clinging onto life...

"Fuck!"

Bobby's exclamation was softer, but no less vehement. The two men stood in silence for a moment, before doing what needed to be done. Deakins headed back up the stairs to get enquiries made into any vehicles or residences in Bennett's name and to put out a general alert, especially around graveyards. Bobby headed towards the scarred wooden table in the corner, trying not to think about the contents of the bucket he side- stepped around, to investigate the jumble of papers he could see.

Lowering himself onto the cold metal chair, he closed his mind to the horror around him. Shut out thoughts of beds and bandages, blood and buckets and things that could not be undone. Concentrated on what he could do; search for clues, try to get inside Bennett's mind, try to save her...

He began to read.

Alex smiled and saw his smile in return, marvelled at the perfect fit of their bodies; saw her love mirrored in his eyes and felt whole again.

"_We are one, Lexie, together till the end of time."_

She pictured a future of sharing, of companionship, of friendship, of rooms no longer silent and a bed no longer empty, of public affection and private lust, of days of laughing and nights of loving, of a life together ... and wanted it even more.

Bobby bolted up the stairs, running from the horrors of that room, running from the horrors of that mind and out into the cold night air. His brain roiled, trying to cope with the madness that slid and coiled from the paper into his thoughts. A madness that had started out as melancholy, descended into depression, and then had broken from reality altogether. Bennett believed he was possessed, that an evil spirit had taken him over and his writings reflected that. There were the neat, tidy bewildered words of Carl Bennett and the savage angry scrawl of his alter ego. An alter ego that was bitter at a life cut short; bitterness that had festered in a cold, dark, desolate grave and now sought a companion for that eternal night.

Why the hell had Bennett fixated on Joe Dutton? He thought of his mother's delusions; the bizarre beliefs she had adopted over the years. Now was not the time to try to figure that out, now he needed to figure out where Alex was... Think, man, think!

He paced furiously up and down the sidewalk, realised he was working himself up into a lather and forced himself to stop. Instead, he went and leaned against the SUV, as if the last tangible memory of her could offer some insight. Stretching his head back to ease the tension in his neck, he looked up at the night sky and froze.

There on the top of the theatre, silhouetted against the full moon were two figures...

Bobby barrelled back through the theatre doors, heading for the stairs and hollering at Deakins;

"The roof! They're on the roof!"


	10. Nightmares

Bobby took the stairs two at a time, thankful he had quit smoking years ago. Pausing momentarily at the top to focus, he shouldered open the service door with his gun held steady in a two handed grip.

"Police!"

The wind stung his face, tears stung his eyes as he saw Alex. She was alive! Bennett had her in his clutches, her body tight against his and they were...dancing. Close to the edge of the roof.

"Let her go, Bennett."

Bobby tried to inject a note of authority into his voice but was aware he sounded more desperate than stern. He kept his gun trained on Bennett but there was no clear shot and no immediate threat. Words, then. Use your words, your knowledge, your understanding of him.

"Carl...don't let the demon win, reclaim your humanity, let her go..."

No response. He was vaguely aware of a quiet commotion behind him, as the other officers emerged onto the roof and carefully took up various strategic positions, but his attention remained focussed on the couple in front of him. Cautiously he edged nearer, his usual shuffling steps now taut and precise with tension. He was perturbed by the lack of response, particularly from Alex, whose head remained turned away from him resting against Bennett's shoulder. Mind working furiously, he tried another approach.

"Joe..."

That got a reaction. The man's head swivelled to look at him, dark eyes glittering.

"I need her."

A voice as dry as bones.

"She's mine."

A voice as cold as the grave.

"For eternity."

A voice as hollow as clods of earth hitting a coffin, as hollow as empty promises, as hollow as a life without hope. Not Bennett's voice. Bobby felt an icy chill and resisted the urge to shudder. Try to engage him, find a way in, keep him talking, get him distracted...

"Why, Joe, why do you need her?"

"It is so lonely here ..."

Desolation howled through his words. Bobby felt the pull of his own loneliness, just as he had with Tagman. But there was Alex...

"Why her? Why Alex?"

He emphasised her name, trying to elicit a response from her but she did not stir.

"She's the only one I can feel... we are linked by our love, Lexie and me."

At the sound of her name, Alex turned to look up into those loving eyes, basking in his sweet smile, her lips welcoming his kiss.

Bobby recoiled at the sight; an unpleasant edge of jealousy tingeing his horror. His mind scrabbled for clues amongst words written and spoken; something, anything to break that kiss...

"I know you're stuck, Joe, tethered to this world by her. "

He kept his voice low, trying to draw Joe's _Bennett's_ attention away from Alex, drawing him in with his words, hoping to lure him into letting go, giving up. But he also kept his gun raised, awaiting threat or provocation...

"All she can do is release you, free you from limbo, the endless night. What else can she do?"

The kiss ended and those dark eyes were once again fixed on him.

"She can keep me company."

Vincent Price could not have delivered the line any better. Bobby's heart sank as the dance resumed, as the couple swayed nearer to the edge... He could not get a clear shot.

"Alex!"

Voice cracking with panic and fear. No response. Then, in desperation, he cried out:

"Lexie!"

Finally, she looked at him. At last, she spoke.

"How dare you? That name is for Joe to use and Joe alone. "

Her eyes glittered like her dance partner's and the words were loaded with venom. But Bobby didn't care because as she spoke she moved a little to the left... Bobby seized the opportunity.

He fired.

Alex's arms were suddenly empty as Joe dropped to the ground. Sinking to her knees beside him, she clawed at his body rolling him onto his back. Stared at the blood soaking his shirt, thought of another bloodstained shirt. No! Not again! She was not going to lose him again.

Blood bubbled from his mouth as he tried to speak and she gripped his head, face inches from his, not wanting him to waste his precious breath but needing to hear his voice...

"Lexie..."

Her hand stroked his hair away from his blue eyes, the twinkle fading. Her tears dripped onto his cheeks blending with his tears.

"Come with me..."

Alex thought of love, lost and found. Thought of an empty bed, empty rooms, that empty hole that had been in her heart. Thought of songs and dances and kisses, of living, of loving...

"Come with me..."

Lexie caught his last breath with her kiss and she went.

EPILOGUE

Bobby hauled himself up from the chair at his mother's bedside. Christ, he was tired. It had been an arduous few weeks. The endless debriefs, the investigations, the IAB – all the rigmarole that accompanied an 'officer involved' shooting... and the paperwork from the Bennett case to sort...and the stress and the shock...

Bennett's body had been dissected, his life dissected and psychiatric terms like 'psychotic', 'delusional' and 'obsessed' were bandied about. But in the sleepless hours of the still of night, Bobby would remember strange symptoms and the look in her eyes, would remember the yawning desolation of that voice and wonder.

He shivered at his thoughts and bent to kiss his mother's forehead, smooth with sleep and sedatives. He had come here seeking comfort and once again, she was lost to him. He took what he could.

His steps were heavy as he walked along the corridor; his heart grew heavier still as he paused outside the room. He gently pushed the door open and entered.

Alex was in a chair by the window, blank eyes staring at some internal landscape. She did not respond to his presence, his greeting, his touch. She did not respond to anything, anymore. Another psychiatric term; catatonic.

Another woman he loved. Another woman lost to him.

He settled into the chair beside her and prepared himself for his second vigil of the night. Prepared himself to be disturbed by regrets, tortured by memories of opportunities not taken, plagued by bittersweet recollections of the time spent with her, tormented by fantasy and dreams, cursed by every breath she took, because every breath kept his hope alive, kept his love alive...

He prepared himself to be haunted.

_A/N_

_Thank you for interest and your comments – they are much appreciated._

_Particular thanks to HeathRowTottie who planted the seed for this story during our discussions about "Needs"_

_Usual Disclaimer; LO:CI is not mine, although a certain detective seems to haunt my thoughts..._


End file.
